


Conventions

by rane_ne



Category: Dragalia Lost (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - GBF, Canon-speculation, Character Study, Drabble, Dubious Consent, Fateful Encounter, Gen, Harle teasing the hell out of Leif, M/M, Rivals, Sexual Content, Sparring, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-08-19 06:39:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 5,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16529375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rane_ne/pseuds/rane_ne
Summary: A collection of Harle/Leif snippets and drabbles, ranging from general to mature+.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally published this chapter as a separate piece but didn't feel too happy with the result after much deliberation. However, I ultimately decided to repost this again in this new series, as I feel that, although it isn't my ideal portrayal of their interactions with each other, it's something that will allow me to build and grow as I continue to hash out my headcanon on their relationship dynamics. 
> 
> [ _Harle's theme._ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yyxqv0ralqM)
> 
> 11/3/18 (4:11 AM)

His head burst open like an over-ripened carcass drying far too long in the heat. The world spun 'round and 'round below a foreign citadel of purple and black, black all around him. He tasted the tang of copper on skin that wasn't his, that would never belong to him, as his eyes clenched shut and his arms tightened around the other man's shoulders. It hurt, but he was determined to push back with rough thrusts of his own, repelling an intrusion his body felt ill-fit to deny. His mind was bleeding immoral thoughts. They wouldn't stop. He didn't utter a sound--save for the rapid thud of his heart, and even then he no longer held control of that ugly, accursed organ. By the time the clock had struck 3 am and the clash of swords had died down to a baring of sacrificed flesh, he was no longer in control of anything. The fight had been filled with blood glistening beautifully in the gentle glow of the corridor's lanterns, sliding along the cracks of graytile and stone and-- _his legs_ , shaking involuntarily from the force of each blow. He attempted to shudder in fresh air, only for the raven to exhale corruption into his desperate act of purification. Leif jerked his head away, but cold fingers gripped his chin and forced his eyes open. Again, he came. Again, the image shifted. The smirk flickered like a mirage above him, making room for the smallest twist of a smile. The sensation of impossibly soft locks brushed over his cheeks as the man leaned down to steal yet another first from him. That luminescent gleam of lust marred an otherwise composed pair of red. Harle was trembling as harshly as he was, and Leif wondered how anyone could look so  _lovely_ like that--hovered above him like a bird of prey, taking every part of him without hesitation, brutally, without question. He was sick. His head burned with heat. His throat filled with blood spurned forth by a wounded tongue. And still, he continued to lie there and accept his defeat. His mind resisted but his body relented. His heart held no say--for the other man had long ago taken control.  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final: 11/4/18 (3:28 AM)

In full concentration mode, eyes glued to the letter in his hand, the Royal Knight captain almost missed the shadowy figure sitting on the sill of the window he'd just passed.

"How about a spar?" 

At the sound of the man's airy voice, Leif did a quick double-take and immediately raised a long, noncommittal eyebrow towards the offender--his dreaded, sneaky rival.

Harle appeared amused, as he always did, and shrugged. "What? I'm just so damn bored," was his response. "Let's do something fun." Those eyes, pure red through and through, narrowed. "Unless you're too scared to engage me in combat, oh great Sparrow?"

Ignoring the quip, Leif sighed. "Don't you have something else to do, Harle?"

The raven agilely leapt off the window, brushing specks of invisible dust from his trademark coat. He was still smirking as he approached the other man; and upon reaching his target, he leaned right into the sparrow's face, decidedly invading every modicum of privacy Leif had left.

If the knight had been any less in control of his emotions, he would've immediately betrayed the nauseating thump of his chest at their sudden, very close, proximity. Instead, he simply frowned back into that cold, challenging stare. It was hard to stay so composed, though, with the way Harle tilted his head and widened his smile, as if he knew  _exactly_  what was going on inside of Leif. 

"Ah-ha... But that 'something' just so happens to be  _you_."

Leif would be lying if he said those words didn't have an effect on him.

That sharp gaze cut right into his nonchalance, forcing him to look away. The letter - a message from one of his brothers in a distant land - was long forgotten now, falling lax in his hand. He didn't respond.

Seconds later, Harle's fingers painted imprints of ice against his chin as he tipped Leif's face back towards him. His crimson eyes were gleeful. "What is it that  _you_  want to do?"  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so ooc and crack, and I had _so_ much fun writing Emile like this. Also, in my headcanon Leif is older than Harle (although they might actually be the same age in the game) so I'm stickin' with that until I find out more background between the two.
> 
> Final: 11/4/18 (3:28 AM)

"He's  _what_?"

Emile, chewing on the remains of his apple, threw a brief glance at Harle. "Like 36 or something, I think."

Harle just stared at him.

"Why are you so surprised? Did you think he was your age?" Emile guffawed at the strange look on his vassal's face. "What, are you disappointed that he's an old man?"

Harle crossed his arms moodily. "No, of course not."

How could he begin to explain that it annoyed him no end, knowing that Leif had even this small bit of advantage over him?

"If it makes you feel any better," Emile continued, "I'm sure he's never been with a woman in his life. He's always so focused on training and what-not."

 _Oh really now?_  The change on Harle's face was amusing. "Ah, is that so?"

Emile raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I'm pretty positive."

Whirling around joyfully, Harle laughed, "Ah-ha, of  _course_. Who in their right mind would ever condescend to sharing sheets with that unsavory man?" 

Emile didn't miss a beat. "You, probably, with the way you look at him during his sparring sessions."

If murdering a prince wasn't considered treason, Harle would've slaughtered Emile ten times over by now.  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final: 11/4/18 (3:28 AM)

The fact that this was Harle - so powerfully skilled with his hands and fingers and  _ah, that smoldering gaze -_ was completely disarming. Leif clenched his teeth and grabbed the man's pale wrist, holding him in place. Sweat lined his brow as he glared up into those condescending eyes. "Why are you doing this?" he managed out in a harsh voice.

Harle grinned and pulled his hand back--only to, moments later, press two sticky, slick fingers against the knight's half-opened lips. "But why not?" He ignored the look of disgust crossing his rival's face and effortlessly slid both digits into the other's mouth, forcing him to taste the salty liquid of his own debauchery. "I'm gracing you with the experience you oh-so desperately need."

Leif winced as Harle thrust deep into him, saliva trickling down his chin, hands attempting to grasp onto any semblance of his previous integrity, any sense of composure he might still have left, being held down like this by his greatest rival in the back corner of the archery outpost. 

Florid, blood-lit eyes never left his as Harle moved in closer and whispered, "I'm just preparing you for what's coming next."  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final: 11/4/18 (3:28 AM)

The world was not sensible, and Leif didn't expect its inhabitants to be either. Yet why did it bother him so greatly that this man here, standing before him now with a maniac grin on his face, was so much more unreasonable than most? He breathed war and incited violence, throwing away promises and crafting lies as if they were stitched upon the very framework of being. His body moved with grace, slender and more lithe than most warriors, especially considering his status of leadership, but his mind was a thunderous force of might. He struck with a power that undermined countless dozens of supposedly stronger men; he spoke with a charisma that persuaded even the most stubborn of resisters to take his cause. He stood for a future empire that Leif could never envision living in--all for the sake of his own selfishness.

A selfish desire that Leif couldn't comprehend.

Rays of sunlight illuminated their faces as the sun slowly rose upon the horizon and engulfed the castle in blinding white. Leif had remained silent the entire time Harle was speaking, but the raven didn't appear to mind. As he uttered his last words - words that seemed to be directed both at Leif, and not, simultaneously - the black-haired man moved to rest his elbows serenely on one of the building's many crenels. His eyes scanned the vast, green terrain beneath him with an uncharacteristic look of fascination, one that Leif had never before seen on his usually guarded face. Unconsciously, he found himself mirroring his rival's movements, settling to Harle's left as he cast a verdant gaze over the expansive fields of their castleground. The forest stirred naught, slumbering peacefully behind the flowerless meadow where they'd first met without words, without knowledge of the significance of their existence in each other's lives. Beyond--an unknown world that neither had ever experienced.

A world that he knew Harle one day sought to obtain as his own.

  
~.  

 _When questioned, the chief of the Capital Guards had only shaken his head. "The reasons are purely for me to understand," he had replied with a saccharine smile. "Regardless of what you believe my intentions are, my actions will not be swayed by conventions of 'virtue' and 'integrity.'" Twin pools of deep red narrowed, until they threatened to drown Leif in a sea of darkness. "I am not afraid to do that which pleases me, even if it results in the death of many or the distrust of all."_  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A look into my headcanon's background story for Harle, pt. 1. There will hopefully be more parts added in the future, as I have A LOT more ideas in store for Harle and his rise as chief of the Capital Guard (not to mention his encounter/developing relationship with Leif). I'm also currently in the process of Leif's background and will hopefully have that written within the next few days.
> 
> 11/7/18 (1:41 AM)

**Pt. 1: Harle**

  
He screamed, but no one could hear him amidst the loud jostling of hundreds upon hundreds of sweaty bodies.

Trapped inside a suffocating crowd of villagers, Harle managed to claw out a hand and cried, "Please, wait! Wait for me!" But the other boys, without faces to their twisted smiles, merely laughed and ran farther away. Miles ahead of him, their footsteps disappeared, and he was left alone.

Left behind, again.

Above, the sun beamed down to scorch his dark hair and the ensuing light burned holes into his vermilion eyes, until he was forced to cover his face, bathing himself in voluntary darkness.

~.

He remembered when his mother told him tales of the royal family seated in Sol Alberia, of their history and  _his_  own noble family's historical duty to serve their cause, and he remembered wondering - as he gazed up at her pale, serene face - why there was such abhorrent pain instilled in her smile.

Years later, he remembered the emptiness in her eyes as she laid still in bed, and the memory was left forgotten--as was his ligeance to the royal family.

~.

Blood splattered from his mouth, coating the blade of his fallen dagger red, as he crumpled to the ground. Slender body shuddering from pain, vision blurring, he was barely able to dodge the foot that sudden swung forth to kick his side, shifting just enough to avoid the full force of the blow. He heaved forward to grab his blade and quickly rolled over to his right, jabbing the weapon straight through the offending foot.

"Ah, you little shit-" his assailant snarled.

Harle took the opportunity to drag the blade straight down the entirety of the man's foot, severing the connection between his 2nd and 3rd toes. The cut was clean, exposing bone, as a wave of crimson droplets sprayed into his face. He didn't pause to savor his enemy's shriek of pain; moving instead to pull the burly man down, until he fell, until they were both leveled on the ground, and Harle could fully experience that expression of pure terror. 

He was smiling placidly as he flicked his dagger up from the foot towards the man's face. 

"Stop! That's enough!"

Hands roughly grabbed him, jerking him away, forcing him to drop his weapon. In a matter of seconds, Alberian-crested soldiers had created a barrier between him and the other contender.

Through a bout of irritation and mild relief, Harle could make out the loud murmurs of the crowd around him and their mixture of hesitation and approval. Involuntarily, his gaze flitted over to the figures sitting in the center of the coliseum--the sage-king and his firstborn son, both witness to his day of honor in the Champion's Trial.

Leonidas was grinning widely down at him, while Aurelius... Harle's lips curled up in amusement at the uncertain frown crossing the ruler's face.

~.

The first time he killed an innocent, the world was a cloth of black moonlight against the silhouette of his closed, darkened face.

It was quiet, and the wind stirred soundlessly around him. He was alone, patrolling the outskirts of their castle, when the creature struck from the edges of the woods. He knew immediately that it heralded from another region - a strange thing wearing the mask of a man but the ears of a feline - surprising him as it leapt out the shadows with a raised axe. He recalled the mirrored surprise on the creature's face when he whirled around, as equally prepared to attack; in that instant, reason urged him to pause yet adrenaline made him reach for his blade, to indefinitely erase that expression away.

He recalled how it had pleaded to him, crafting a tale about poverty and providing for its family and--he recalled that he'd felt no pity at the pathetic noises. 

He had gutted straight through its heart. 

To this day, Harle could still remember the strange sensation filling his chest as he stared down at the aftermath of his work: the cold, sickly sweet flood of unadulterated pleasure.

~.

When he uncovered wet, bloodstained hands, dozens of corpses surrounding him as if in worship, night had long descended upon the heretic's village and his heart had long since stilled.

Right then and there, his wide grin all-encompassing, Harle decided that he would never again fall behind another person.

He would pave his own path to glory, no matter what means it took.

With that singular resolution in mind, the raven pushed through the hundreds upon hundreds of bodies in his way--to ultimately appear, victorious, on the other side.  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon: Leif is a betrayed prince from a distant land, who is saved by Aurelius and spends the remainder of his time in Sol Alberia.
> 
> Final: 11/9/18 (12:17 AM)

**Pt. 1: Leif**  
  


He held his breath and leaned his head back to stare up at the long, arching, gray ceiling of his father's castle. At the very top, open glass revealed a blue-black sky with no twinkling light in sight. 

The tattered throne itched his backside as he listlessly brought his gaze down and around to the empty room. Frayed, red carpet, dusty walls enclosed by dark, drab curtains. And an empire that bled and bled greed, until the greed had overflown to slaughter all life from its people; an empire where the king slumbered with illness in his veins, a marionette who could hardly stand upright, let alone stand up against the powerful hold of his queen and her two youngest children.

And he?--the eldest son with no say in their political war?

Glancing down at the crumbling armrest of his father's throne, Leif wondered if this would ever become his.

He wondered if he even desired such a thing.

~.

_Crunch._

Snow thawed under a mountain of decaying bodies, shoved aside like flotsam on the side of the road. Broken woodwork fell off broken houses, chimneys caved in with only a lingering scent of smoke and the past memory of a warm, open fireplace to warm a previously living, laughing family. People who had little power to resist, to fight and defend what was rightly theirs, now but ghosts trapped inside this dead, soon-to-be forgotten village. People who were but victims to the governing sovereignty that stood almighty above their heads-- _his family_ 's sovereignty.

Leif closed his eyes as his horse slowly trudged through the remains of yet another decimated community.

"Ah, damn," his youngest brother, Laithan, sighed from his left. "Those accursed bandits were probably here before us..."

"Still, I'm sure we can manage to scavenge something," said the second brother, Lugh, his emerald eyes cold as he dismounted from his horse. He was lanky, slightly thin, but held himself high, long cloak billowing behind him grandly as he approached a large estate that must have once housed a wealthy family. The place appeared untouched, save for the burn marks marring the wooden parts of its exterior and the various loose pockets where stone had become rubble and fallen out of the house's framework. 

As Laithan gleefully leapt off his own horse, Leif felt a mild headache forming.

"Stop," the eldest commanded. He quickly snapped his reigns and urged his horse forward, cutting in front of his brothers. He glared down at the pair, irritated at the immediate indifference matching their expressions, already knowing that they wouldn't listen to him. "Have you forgotten our mission? We didn't come here to loot the place; we're here to find survivors."

Laithan sneered. "What survivors? Do you actually believe anyone is alive?"

"We've barely begun searching. It's still a long ways to go through the village-"

"Dear _sibling_ ," Lugh interrupted. He stared at Leif with undisguised distaste, although his mouth lifted up in a bright smile. "Perhaps you should be a good big brother and do all the searching for us while we attend to more important matters of ... investigation." Without waiting for a reply, Lugh shoved past Leif's horse and towards the gated estate. Laithan quickly followed suit after his older brother, only stopping to spare Leif a hostile look before moving around him as if he were an insignificant detour.

Infuriated but filled with a familiar sense of helplessness, Leif called after them, "I hope you two realize how furious father will be when he hears of this-"

Lugh paused, tilting his head backwards with obvious humor curling his lips, " _Father_?" He glanced at Laithan, who mirrored his amusement, "I don't recall having a father, do you, Laithan?" His youngest brother was guffawing as he continued airily. "All I recall having is a beautiful, lovely _mother_ who will one day reign supreme over our empire."

With that, Lugh's eyes flashed maliciously, boring into Leif's own solemn pair in challenge. "And I--who will become that empire's rightful heir."

~.

Rain thundered down in a rush, staining his vision murky gray, drenching his body with chills. He pounded relentlessly on the twin, sealed gates, mouth gritted in frustration, panic and pain intermingling to settle heavy roots inside him. His lance was stained in the thick, watery blood of his kind--an ugly reminder that _they_ had forced his hands, forced him to slaughter dozens of soldiers whose armor shone boldly with his family's crest. The words they'd shouted, weapons raised against his stunned countenance, had pierced like daggers into his heart: _"Impostor! That man is impersonating the prince!"_

"I'm not an impostor!" He snarled, fist curled tight against the wooden barrier keeping him locked out of his own home. His eyes glowed bright in the darkness. "Let me in and I'll prove it to you! I'm not the one you should be targeting..."

An image of Lugh's smug face flickered in his mind; the memories, the whispers, the stares, the supposed 'rebellion' he'd been ordered to quell, traveling for days and days on end, only to find the remains of an empty, long abandoned town awaiting him. Only to return home and hear of news that Leif, the first scion to the throne, had been slaughtered by heretics on his way back from a perilous journey. It was such a ridiculous claim, yet who would dare object to the words of the queen and her two sons?

Soldiers had aimed straight for his heart, guilt and fear crossing their faces, but unable to defy orders. Soldiers had stepped before him with swords in their hands, resolute, but unable to match blades against his skill, falling one by one to his desperate swings. Soldiers--no more his vassals, now merely his mother's puppets.

Exhaling deeply, he pressed his forehead against the cool, wet surface. The castle remained quiet, guards hiding silently in their posts atop cracked, well-worn battlements, rain washing away all evidence of an existence that Leif couldn't fully deem a happy one. He briefly wondered what would become of his father. Perhaps the old man would die to poison in his drink, or a knife pressed to his pale throat. Or perhaps he would waste away in bed on his own, after hearing news of his beloved son's death. Perhaps it was all for the best.

With a final thump of his fist against the citadel's looming doors, Leif finally turned his gaze away, eyes settling instead on the stretch of road before him. Twisting, turning, an unknown path that would be undoubtedly filled with more - maybe even _greater_ \- pain and hardship. Despite the trepidation in his heart, a small sense of hope seized hold of him. _A new start._

He set his jaw against a frothing thrust of rainy wind and slowly began his trek.

~. 

Not a single cloud lingered in the sky on day one hundred-and-fifty-five, when his sight drifted over the tall expanse of a hill and landed on the brilliant visage of a massive, luminous blue castle resting serenely in the distant.

Eyes closing of their own accord, body tired and drowsy, Leif wondered if this would be his new home.

~. 

When he awoke to the smell of warm bread and fresh laundry, in a large room empty save for the slumbering body of an older male, a glistening gold crown atop his head, his face peaceful yet aged with lines of wisdom, Leif thought perhaps he was back in his father's castle.

A strange panic overcame him as he fumbled with the bedsheets, barely registering another royal family's crest emblazoned upon its colorful stitching. His body felt fatigued but sated, magically covered in bandages, cleaned and washed and appearing as if he were rising from a short nap. Quickly moving to throw his legs off the edge of the bed, Leif was stopped by a soft cough.

His sudden movement had startled awake the man sitting in the chair beside him, who now blinked keen eyes as his gaze settled upon the flustered ex-prince.

"So you're finally up," the noble - for of course this person was nothing if not one - proclaimed, smiling. "Relax," he added at Leif's tense expression. "You're safe here."

"...where am I?" He knew he should be respectful; after all, it seemed as though he'd been saved by this person, one of royal descent, but he had to accurately assess the situation before any niceties could come to play.

Despite Leif's sharp tone, the man continued to smile. "You're right in the middle of Alberia's grand capital, my beloved family's home: Sol Alberia." Viridescent orbs twinkled merrily as the noble rose to his feet, allowing Leif to fully appreciate his height and grandeur. "And I am the ruler of this vast, glorious empire--the sage-king Aurelius."  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at fight scenes but tried my best here ;~; Also, if these two ever became playable characters, I can totally see Leif as a lance user and Harle as a dagger user.
> 
> 11/13/18 (12:17 AM)

Leif jabbed his lance forward several times, keeping his body hunched and tense as he rapidly approached his black-haired adversary. Harle twisted to the right, easily dodging the attacks, and took the opportunity to drag his dagger down one of the lance's blunted sides, targeting the center of Leif's armored chest as retaliation. Jerking his body backwards to avoid the blade, Leif deftly rolled his lance to the left, attempting to slam the side of the weapon against the other's quickly advancing figure. Immediately, Harle's free hand shot out and, with unexpected strength, he grasped and held the lance's middle to stop the incoming assault. Surprise - and mild annoyance at his counterpart's wide grin - briefly crossed Leif's face before he forcefully pulled the lance back, freeing it from Harle's tight grip as he jumped back several steps to allow a good distance between them again. They paused for a mere second, carefully regarding one another with equal amounts of respect and ferocity belying the silent exchange, before Harle rushed forward this time, dagger moving impossibly fast as he aimed to severe Leif's face in half. Matching his rival's speed, in a single motion, Leif flipped his lance horizontally and raised it upward to block the attack, the loud clang of metal on metal reverberating throughout the training grounds as their sparring session continued into the depths of dusk.  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of people say Harle looks a bit like Sandalphon from GBF and, while he kinda does, their personalities are completely different. And that got me thinking, what if Harle did become the Supreme Primarch and Leif was his vassal/1st in command? Hence this came into being. Sorry for the ooc (I just _love_ the idea of Leif, if he were ever "dark," to be a bloodthirsty killing machine) and if there's any inaccuracies in lore; I've never played GBF but have read a bit on Sandalphon/Lucifer's story. 
> 
> 11/14/18 (12:28 AM)

"Are wings really necessary?" said the cool, disimpassioned voice of the newly appointed supreme being. His lazy, claret eyes lifted from their slumber as he leaned back more easily into his chair to stare down at the bowing head of his first-in-command. He unconsciously picked at a multi-layered, shimmering black feather from the inner parts of his right wing as he awaited a response. 

Gently hovering, stained white wings - a vast contrast to his darkened ones - were lowered to the ground in a display of supplication as his vassal's mouth twisted dryly. "Your Highness, you must have wings in order to travel between the realms of sky and land." Steely green eyes lifted up from the ground to rest on his master's mildly irritated countenance. "Unless you seek to remain up here whilst  _I_  do all the work in the world of the humans... again?"

A nameless piece of land scourged beneath them, discordant melodic screams drifting up through the clouds to settle like a harp's aria within the dominion of the gods--all the work of this beautiful, murderous primal before him.

Harle cocked his head as his emotionless expression gave way to a sneer. Although he had rightly attained this position through the destruction of the foolish, white-haired Primarch who had proceeded him, Leif barely seemed fazed by their change in status. Through the thrumming heat in his stomach, gazing down at those bowed locks of blood-drenched brown, the black-haired male wondered if this was why he had even allowed such a dangerous creature within an inch of his kingdom.

This maddening, delicious fury that Leif - and  _only_  Leif - could incite in him... oh, how he  _craved_  it so dearly.

Harle shifted forward in his seat, extending a lazy leg out to press the tip of his foot on top of the other's left wing. Leif didn't flinch but his body visibly tensed and the sudden, wide smile that filled his visage was edged with rage. Strands of unruly hair fell over his eyes as he tipped his head back to gaze, expectantly, at his commander.

"My dear, dear vassal--" Crimson orbs narrowed with mirth as the Supreme Primarch laughed, pressing down hard on soft, downy feathers of corrupted white, savoring the hatred on Leif's angelic face with great pleasure. "Don't you think wings suit  _you_  better?"  
  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That infamous meadow scene, finally in Harle's pov.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile since I've updated... Sorry! These past few weeks have been busy and filled with inspiration shortages. This snippet was written awhile ago but I never got around to polishing it enough to be satisfactory, but meh, here it is anyway. 
> 
> Final: 11/17/18 (4:21 PM)

_Let me get back the feeling I once lost._

He felt completely isolated in a room full of strangers he knew.

Acquaintances. People who would call him "friend." Dozens of eyes singling him out with their unvoiced thoughts and rough, accusatory glances. In a place that he'd adopted temporarily as a home, he had yet to find a kindred soul to claim as solely his.

No man nor woman to spark a single flicker inside his heart, to sway him off of his current path of discord. Instead, they strayed far from him, uncertain and hesitant, and so he gifted them with cold eyes and arrogant smiles if only to strengthen their fear. He pulled farther away, and none deigned to grip him back, pry loose his elusive mask, imprint slivers of sharp, intense emotion within him.

They were all too afraid, too weak, too ... empty. As was he, constantly being surrounded by such grotesque encounters of reanimated death, the sickening stench of too many bodies swelling alongside too little heart.

Until that late, weathered evening in early Spring, when he found his gaze uncharacteristically wandering over to the stretch of land extending far beyond Aurelius's castle, past gated outposts and stationed soldiers to rest instead on the boundless meadow in the near distant.

Until that moment, he had never believed in anything as whimsical as "fate."

Until his eyes landed on the light-footed figure moving effortlessly through the lush, tall grass, dealing precise blows against an invisible opponent despite the subversion of inescapable wind, Harle had believed he would never find his equal.

Until his eyes finally settled on the other's man quiet yet intense gaze, in the lingering few minutes of their first encounter, Harle had believed he would never find  _that_  feeling again.

But he had been wrong.

When Leif's face slowly slackened into a cautious smile, wind rustling locks of drenched chestnut across his forehead, his lance now lax in his grip as he openly stared back at the raven without an inch of reserve or fear, Harle welcomed the breathless rush of excitement filling his chest.  
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this is where the M rating comes into play..? This purely self-indulgent pwp was also written awhile ago and I debated if I actually wanted to publish this or not... then thought, why not? I just _reeeeally_ love the idea of Harle dominating Leif, because it's Harle, y'know? 
> 
> Final: 11/21/18 (5:15 AM)

"Ah, is this what you came here for, after all?"

Piercing, brilliant maroon mocked him through a curtain of darkness, despite the blood trickling down that curled, arrogant mouth, despite his submissive position pressed against the ground by Leif's hard body. 

Despite the tight hold the sparrow had on his bound hands, keeping him trapped below, Harle seemed unperturbed by their temporary shift in power. Tussled jet black hair fell in loose waves over his manic eyes--eyes that burned bright with excitement, intense enough to send shivers down his partner's spine. Dark cloak long abandoned several feet beside them, armor unhinged and inner garments askew in a mess of rumpled fabric, his grin appeared as sloppy and inviting as could possibly be, given that the raven would never usually submit to anyone, let alone  _him_.

Yet, that wasn't true, was it?

Even now, even as he leaned above Harle in a display of supposed dominance, Leif felt his body betray him. Knees parted on either side of his rival's slackened legs, trembling, uncertain, hesitant; his breath coming out in short exhales, catching in his throat with each inhale as their unspoken words mingled tellingly in the air.

His eyes were lowered, glinting neon green under a slowly softening expression, when he brought his face closer to Harle's.

Leif didn't answer the raven's quip; rather, responding with an almost frustrated fist balled atop the man's exposed chest, spreading his heat against the other's cool, pale flesh. His head burned feverishly, thoughts lost in a whirlwind of sensation and distorted images of that smug, infuriating face under him, those voracious eyes watching him unfold before their very presence with pure, unrestrained amusement.

Harle would  _destroy_  him for it later, would never let him hear the end of it, but Leif couldn't bring himself to care in that moment as he finally released a defeated noise, lowering his body just a little more, just enough so that they were now brought flushed together. 

 _Fire and ice. Light and darkness._ The irony of their positions and the truth behind their ultimate consummation would never cease to embarrass him.

But he knew it was his own fault for yielding to the other man's whims, every single time.

Leif didn't meet Harle's gaze as he promptly unclothed himself, stoic, with no hint of embellished finesse, as per usual.

And he continued to say nothing, even as laughter sprung forth from the raven's blood-drenched lips, his teeth glinting haughtily from the shadows like a gleeful demon. 

Choosing, instead, to reply with his body--a sudden, wayward movement  _down..._ down onto searing, throbbing, aching  _pain_ , pain as familiar as it was difficult to manage ( _still_ ). Through gritted teeth and hazy eyes, a raw, satisfied smile hovering on the corners of his lips, he watched those orbs of red glaze over in surprised pleasure, as finally,  _finally_ , Harle's true desires were exposed to the world--threatening to tear the brunet apart from the inside out, physically  _and_  emotionally.

" _Fuck_."

A sharp hiss, hot wetness gushing deep into him, sending jolts of electricity throughout his body as he settled more firmly onto that thick, hardened mass.

Leif shuddered.

"You really don't like preparing yourself, do you?" Harle's chuckle was low, breathless with amazement, lust marring his normally composed expression as he gazed up at his partner, "Or  _me_."  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: With this final piece, I may or may not be entering a brief hiatus, as I'm losing some inspiration right now and it's going to be pretty busy in the next few weeks. But hopefully all you Harle/Leif fans are enjoying these snippets so far. We need more love for this pairing/these characters!


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